The Aesir Tales
by PatrickBatemansLittleChow
Summary: The beginning of a tale most epic. Following the life of the god-born hero Sicarius Aesir through his trials and tribulations. Reviews welcomed and encouraged. Cover image created by /lainegames22
1. Chapter I

Don't forget to check out the Aesir Basics to get up to speed on the lore used below.I recommend keeping it open in another tab. Just in case. :D

CHAPTER I

-Skjoldur-

The king paced the stone halls of his palace, as his wife's anguished screams of pain echoed loudly off the old walls.

He twirled a long twist of hair around his ringed finger, his nerves rattling him. Nursemaids ran in and out of his bed chamber, carrying blood stained sheets and crimson tinged water.

"Gods protect my wife. And my child." he murmured, wincing as the screaming continued.

Suddenly, the night was silent. The air was still, and Skjoldur feared the worst. A nursemaid stumbled out of the dimly lit room, her breathing ragged, and her hands shaking.

"What happened?" The king demanded, grabbing the nurse by the shoulders.

The girl gasped, fearful of the enraged king.

He pushed her aside, and threw open the wooden door.

Skjoldur's wild eyes grazed the room before finding peace on the sight of his beaming wife, laying among the twisted and bloodied sheets. In her arms was a bundle swathed with the Aesir gold and purple.

The kings held breath came out in a satisfied stream, and he drifted to his queen's side.

"The gods smiled on us today." He whispered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Artanis sighed in content, stroking a finger down her newborns soft cheek.

Skjoldur looked upon the baby's innocent face, his heart soaring with the joy that came with fatherhood. "Hello, little one." He whispered, offering a strong finger to the infant.

It took a hold, and the king laughed with excitement. "Ah! What hands! You'll wield a blade well with a grip like that!"

"Now, Skjouldur. Perhaps he will prefer a bow. Or an axe."

"No matter what he wields, I can assure you he will wield it well."

"Would you like to hold him?"

Skjoldur nodded, reaching for his son.

The boy nestled in his arms, and the king felt a tear drip down his cheek. "He's perfect."

The boy squirmed a bit, before letting out a long cry.

Skjoldur winced at the sound, as it pierced the silent night.

"Well his lungs certainly work." He murmured, handing the child back to his mother. "He could kill with that voice."

Artanis chuckled, shushing the baby softly. "What shall we call you?" She cooed to him.

Skjoldur ran his thumb across the babies brow. "Sicarius." He whispered. "Sicarius Aesir."

"Yes." Artanis agreed, kissing her husbands cheek. "Sicarius."

The proud new parents smiled, admiring their new son.

The next of the mighty Aesir line.

Sicarius Aesir...Assassin of The Gods.

5 Years Later

-Skjoldur-

Skjoldur sighed with exhaustion, running his hand across his fevered brow as he once more analyzed the map indicating the armies who threatened his kingdom. Camped on his doorstep...He could hardly bear it. He could almost hear his father's scolding. 'You are weak, Skjoldur. You rule limply, when you should be bringing a stone fist down on your kingdom!'

Ignis Aesir was never known to have been exceedingly kind. Even to his own son. The kingdom lived in horror when he ruled. High taxes they could not dispute, constant aggression from his militarized guards, and strict laws forbidding any type of outside contact.

But...The kingdom knew peace. No harm came to his people, and the kingdom was safe. But unhappy.

When Skjoldur ascended, he brought light back to his people. They lived a carefree existence, trusting in their good king, and remaining oblivious to the dangers which lurked in the shadows. Dangers Skjoldur feared he could not defeat.

"Brother." Dommer boomed, bursting in to the kings study.

"Whatever news you bring let it be good."

"Afraid not. Scouts report a massive Orc army being formed near Windhelm. Led by Urshbar."

"Urshbar?" Skjoldur whispered in disbelief. "After all I've done for him, he betrays me."

"Theres more." Dommer said quietly.

Skjoldur glanced at his brother, and he could feel the load of worry worsen.

"I sent some men to Falkreath. When I did not recieve word I sent a second party. I recieved a letter bearing the symbol of the dark brotherhood. And Captain Valion's head."

Skjoldur ran a hand over his heavy eyes. "Damn assassins."

"Skully." Dommer whispered. "I fear for this kingdom."

"No. We are Aesirs. We do not fear anything!" Skjoldur screamed.

Dommer took a step back.

"We will win this. Even if I have to kill every goddamn soldier in Tamriel on my own!"

"Father?"

The brothers whipped around to see little Sicarius standing in the doorway. He held a cloth wrapped parcel against his chest,

"Not now, Sicarius. I have things to discuss with your uncle."

The boy's face dropped, and Skjoldur's heart shattered as he recalled his own father saying the same words to him when he was young.

"I'm sorry. We will talk later, Dommer." The king patted his brothers shoulder, and beckoned for Sicarius. "Come here, my son."

Sicarius grinned widely, and ran to his father. He dropped the large object on the table with a grunt, and scrambled in to his fathers lap.

"What is this?"

The boy removed the cloth, revealing the golden book of the Aesir family tree. It's jewel encrusted cover glinted in the candle light, and drew out a gasp from the child.

"I found it in the Trophy room." He said.

"Sicarius this was locked up on a pedestal." Skjoldur said.

Sicarius shrugged. "I found the key."

The king chuckled, ruffling the boys raven hair. "You rascal."

"Mother said it is special."

"Yes. Indeed it is."

What is it?"

"It's our history."

"What's h...His...tery." He struggled at the new word, his brows crinkling together as he said it.

"History is the past. Everything that our family has done is in this book." Skjoldur gently lifted the cover, revealing the embossed pages inside.

"Like a story?"

"Yes. Like a story."

"Can you read it to me?"

Skjoldur smiled, watching his son awe over the book, and run his tiny hands over each etched word.

"I suppose you're old enough." He said, settling in to the chair for the lengthly tale. Sicarius laughed excitedly, bringing the book closer for Skjoldur to begin reading.

Skjoldur cleared his throat.

"You see, Sicarius. We Aesir's were the first to walk this earth."

"Even before the elves?"

"Yes. Long before the elves."

"But...All the books say elves came first. Why aren't Aesir's in the books before elves?"

"Because the Aesir's are in this book." Skjoldur said, patting the page. "This is all the history we need."

Sicarius nodded, and leaned in for more.

"Aesir's were created in a god's image. Which god do you think it was?"

The child squeezed his eyes shut, thinking.

"Who sits in the middle of the pantheon?"

"Akatosh!" He squealed.

"That's right. We were created in Akatosh's image. Being in his image, we were made strong, intelligent, powerful, gifted in battle."

"Mother says we were made handsome too."

The king laughed, nodding. "Handsome too. The first Aesir was named Primitus. First of The Gods." Skjoldur pointed to the top of the page, where the firstborn's name was written. "Akatosh put him in the land known as Atmora."

"Where is Atmora?"

"It's very very far north of here. Across the sea."

"Why don't we live in Atmora anymore?"

"Well if you stop asking questions I'll tell you." Skjoldur teased.

Sicarius sighed, but allowed his father to continue.

"Mara, the goddess of love, was in love with Akatosh. She would do anything for him. So, Akatosh had her make a creation of her own. A woman. Her name has been lost, but Primitus fell in love with her. They had two sons. Ysgramor, and Judex."

"I know Ysgramor! He built the city of Windhelm!"

"Yes. That's right sicarius. Judex and Ysgramor sailed across the sea to Skyrim. And together they built Windhelm."

"Were they both king?"

"No. Ysgramor was king for a time, and then his son, Ylgor was king. He died, and Judex took the throne."

"Oh."

Skjoldur continued down the line, all the way to Kongur, who made the decision to move the palace to Solitude.

"Kongur thought Solitude would help with trade, and bring in more money. Or rather, Lucrum did."

"Lucrum?"

"Kongur's advisor and youngest brother. The only one who moved with him to Solitude. Do you know what Lucrum means?"

Sicarius shook his head.

"Greed." Skjoldur informed. "After Kongur, Pando took the throne, Caedis became the general, and his twin sons Verto and Eurus trained the armies."

"Both of them?"

"Yes. It is said, they used to tie together in battle, and whirl around like a storm."

The child giggled. "That would be funny to see."

"Yes. I'm sure it was quite a sight." Skjoldur smiled, running his finger further down the line. "Pando's son was Ignis. My father, and your grandfather. And then me. And your mother and I had you."

"We have a lot of history."

"Yes we do. A history you will help continue."

"When I'm king?"

"When you're king."

The boy marvelled over the book some more, and Skjoldur rubbed his tired eyes.

"Is he still awake?"

Skjoldur shot his eyes to the door, where Artanis had her brow raised, and her arms crossed. "A thousand pardons, my love. I was only showing him our history."

"Well history is not excuse enough to be awake this late."

"But mother." Sicarius whined, yawning against his fathers chest. "I'm not sleepy."

"Of course not." She said, reaching for the boy.

"Do not trouble yourself, Artanis. I'll put him down." Skjoldur stood up with a groan, holding his son close as he left the study.

"Alright. Goodnight, my child." Artanis whispered, kissing the boys cheek.

"Goodnight, mother." He replied, already dozing on the kings shoulder.

She gave her husband a kiss too, and whispered a quick "I will wait for you in the bedchamber." Before letting him carry the boy to bed.

Skjoldur tucked Sicarius beneath his woven covers, patted the top of his head, and was almost to the door when the boy spoke.

"Father? How many people have you killed?"

Skjoldur turned to his son, taken aback by his question. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Every king I've read about has killed people. How many have you killed?"

The king pondered a moment, and took to his sons side once more. "Sicarius...You have to understand that killing is not some kind of sport to be played. It is not a competition who can kill the most. Taking a life is done only when absolutely necessary."

"Why did you say you were going to kill everyone in tamriel?"

Skjoldur sighed, wishing he did not have to explain this to the boy. "Because if that's what it takes to keep you safe, thats what I will do."

"But what if the people you kill are just trying to protect people they love?"

Skjoldur took his sons hand in his. "Listen to me Sicarius. When you are king, you will understand. Sometimes A king must kill for what he loves. He goes to war when his kingdom faces danger. It is his duty to protect his people. You must fight for what you love, or it will be lost."

"I want to learn to fight! I want to be just like you and fight wars! And win!" Sicarius said, grinning from ear to ear.

"My hope is that you won't have to fight wars."

"But I need to know how to fight. What kind of king will I be if I can't?"

"A compassionate one. Violence is not always the solution. A great king fights with words, and kindness. He keeps his kingdom safe through his love. Not his sword."

"Can I be both? A lover and a fighter?"

Skjoldur smiled a little, ruffling the boys hair. "You will be, Sicarius. You will be. But for now, you must sleep. Do not poison your mind with thoughts of war. You are still young. Such sadness is not fit for young minds."

Sicarius nodded obediently, laying his head on his pillow.

Skjoldur stroked a wild strand of raven hair from the boys eyes, once more marvelling at how much he resembled his mother. "Sleep well, my little king." He placed a kiss upon the child's forehead before once more leaving him to sleep.

Skjöldur closed his sons door, his heart heavy with sadness. He crossed his arms over his chest and made the slow walk to his own bedchambers.

"Your majesty."

He looked behind him and saw his General giving a slight bow.

"What news do you bring under the moon?" He asked

"The scouts have returned. They report a massive encampment near the border."

"I do not wish to be rude, general. But every army in Tamriel is descending upon us. You will have to be more specific."

"It's the Imperials."

Skjöldur sighed, scratching his beard. "How long will it take them to get here?"

"If they went without rest, I would say four days. Five if we're lucky. ."

"Pick three hundred good men. Meet the bastards on the road at the Bonechill pass. Jam up the middle and kill as many as you can."

"Yes sir." The General ran off down the hall, leaving the king alone.

Skjöldur pushed open the door to his lavish bedding quarters. Artanis lay on the bed, dressed in a sheer nightgown, awaiting her husband.

"Did Sicarius go down easily?"

"He did." Skjöldur said, removing his crown and sitting on the bed.

"What plagues your mind?"

"Our son believes a king must wage war to be a good ruler."

"Skjöldur. He is but a boy. He does not know any better yet."

"My son is being brought up in chaos. He watches his father send men to their death, to keep control of a crumbling kingdom."

"You mustn't think that way. You are a beloved king. There has never been a better king than you."

"A better king would not lay awake in bed, terrified about not seeing another sun rise."

"I trust your judgement. And Sicarius does as well."

Skjöldur looked to his wife, his severe expression softening at the sight of her.

"Oh Artanis." He whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I just wish there could be peace."

"History does not remember the kings of peace."

"I would prefer a record-less rule to constant fear. Perhaps my father was right."

"You are not your father." Artanis reminded. "The people adore you. They will follow you to the death if that is what is required of them. You know they trust in you."

"I know. And I do not wish to let them down without a fight."

"Nor will you."

Skjoldur laid with his wife in his arms, drifting in to the alert sleep of an anxious king.

-four days later-

The king jolted from his sleep to the sound of yelling and clanging bells. His wife, clutching his chest, she whispered, "What is it?"

Skjoldur's heart froze within him, his blood ceasing in his veins and his bones turning to stone.

"It's begun." He said, leaping out of bed. "Go fetch Sicarius, and get to the throne room! Hurry!"

Artanis nodded, rushing to their sons room. Skjoldur strapped his sword around his waist, and set his crown on his head. He stared at his reflection, wondering if the gods would allow him to do it again the next sunrise.

He strode through the chaotic halls, the sounds of the battle waging outside only fuelling him further. This was his kingdom. He would see it burn before he surrendered it. He would die before he gave up.

Such was the Aesir way.

"Skjoldur!" Dommer panted, jogging alongside the king. The hefty Nord was covered in sweat and blood, still wielding his battle axe with the glimmer of war in his eye.

"What are we up against?"

"Imperials are trying to break down the south gate. Orcs at the north. Archers surrounding us."

"How many men are at the north gate?"

"Twenty? Maybe less."

"How many to the south?"

"Fifty strong."

"Take thirty of them and keep those orcs back. They get in here, and this kingdom falls."

"Yes, sir." Dommer said, running off again.

Skjoldur gripped the hilt of his fathers sword, and climbed the twisting staircase to the ramparts. Beneath the midnight sky, his countryside burned. The great windmill set aflame, filling the air with thick billowing smoke. He looked skyward, and for the first time in his life...Skjoldur questioned whether or not the gods were looking back.

-Artanis-

"Mother where are we going?" Sicarius said sleepily as the queen rushed around his room, packing his satchel for whatever was to come.

"I do not know, little one. Somewhere safe."

"Where is father?"

Artanis glanced at her son, and sighed. "He'll be along." She finally said, though she herself could hear the uncertainty of it.

"I want to go back to bed." Sicarius whined, and let out a soft sob.

"Sicarius listen to me." Artanis took her son by the shoulders, sweeping the wild dark curls from his eyes. "I need You to be very, very brave tonight. No matter what happens."

"But what is going to happen?" He asked.

She felt the sting of tears, and pulled the boy close to her. "I do not know." She admitted. "But you must promise me you will be brave."

"I promise, mother."

She kissed his cheek, taking a moment to hold him. It killed her, not knowing if she would live to do it again. "Come now. We must hurry." Artanis fastened the buttons of the satchel, and scooped up Sicarius.

She carried him hurriedly through the stone halls, which echoed with the sounds of battle outside.

"Mother wait!" Sicarius squealed, wriggling out of his mothers arms. He ran in to the study, wrapping up a book which lay open on the table in cloth.

"Sicarius we do not have time to-" Artanis froze as she saw the gold and jewels of the Book Aesir.

The boy held if close to his chest, looking up at his mother.

"Put it in here." She said, opening the satchel hurriedly. He stuffed it down, closing the leather flap and hurrying along with the boy in tow.

-Skjoldur-

The king gave a grunt, as he buried his sword deep within the red chest of the imperial intruder. But no matter how many he slay, more of them poured through the crushed gate.

"My king!" Dommer screamed from atop the rampart. "Tullius approaches! You must flee!"

Skjoldur stabbed another Imperial and looked to his brother. "But the gate! You cannot hold it alone!"

"And this kingdom cannot be ruled without a king."

Skjoldur nodded solemnly at his brother, sharing a wordless farewell. He dashed back in to the castle, leaving the waging battle behind him.

He burst in to the throne room, where Artanis was holding Sicarius and pacing in front of Skyrim's seat of power.

"How is he?" Skjoldur whispered, placing a hand on the boys head.

"Tired. It wont be an easy trip for him.

"It will all be over soon my little king." Skjoldur whispered, taking the boy from his mother. He set him down, slipping the pack on his shoulders.

"Artanis. Help me move the throne."

The queen nodded, and heaved the heavy throne aside with her husband.

"Alright. You first Sicarius."

The boy nodded, ducking in to the crawlspace.

"We must be quick." Skjoldur warned. "Tullius is-"

There was a deafening crash outside the in hall, and the royals froze.

"No. No." Artanis whispered.

"Sicarius. You must go on." Skjoldur urged.

"But father where?" The boy asked.

"Skjoldur we cant leave him! We cant!" Artanis sobbed.

"Go with him! I will try to close the entrance."

Artanis threw herself at Skjoldur, giving him a long kiss before withdrawing in to the escape with her son.

Skjoldur pushed on the throne, grunting and screaming with all his might.

But even his god given gifts did not aid him.

"Curse all the divines!" He shouted, kicking the solid gold of the throne. "Artanis I cannot do it." He panted.

Artanis gripped her son one last time, before exiting the small space.

"Sicarius. My son." Skjoldur said, taking the boys worried face in his hands. "You must go on your own."

"But father...Where do I go?"

"Onwards. Follow the tunnel. All the way down. And then...Anywhere you can. Someone will take you in. but you mustn't tell anyone who you are. No one may know."

"Father what will happen to you."

There came another crash, and Skjoldur's eyes filled with tears. "I will see you again, Sicarius."

The boy began to sob, and gripped his father tightly. "I'm sorry, father." He cried.

"Sorry? Sorry for what my son?"

"I am afraid! Aesirs cannot fear!"

"Sicarius...Fear is what fuels us. If you fear, you can fight."

The boy looked glassy eyed at his father, sniffing back the tears. Skjoldur took one of Sicarius' tiny hands in his, tracing the smooth lines of his palm.

Skjoldur removed the amulet of akatosh around his neck, presenting it to the crying child.

"You must promise me one thing, Sicarius." The king said, tears streaking down his cheeks. "When you grow up...To be big and strong...You must promise that you will take the throne. You must make Tullius pay for his crimes."

"But what if I don't want to be king?"

"It is in your blood. You were born to rule this land. As was I, and my father, and his father before him. All the way back to Primitus."

The boy sobbed some more.

"It will be alright my son." The king whispered, holding his son close one last time. "Now go."

Sicarius nodded solemnly, and Skjoldur began to block in his son with the throne.

He and Artanis pushed with all their might, covering the tunnel just before Tullius burst in with his men.

Skjoldur reached for his wife, knowing they would both perish at the General's hand.

-Sicarius-

The little Aesir crouched fearfully in the secret tunnel, still gripping the amulet. The king had said to go on, but the boy couldn't possibly obey. Not without them. As his eyes adjusted to the stony gloom, he notice a small sliver of light cutting through a small space where the throne had not met the stone of the tunnel.

He crawled towards the light, peeking out.

His father stood proudly before seven men, head held high, crown glinting in the torch light. The queen stood with him, holding his hand, and doing her queenly duty of remaining by his side in the face of adversary.

"Well Skjoldur." One of the seven said, stepping closer to the king. He bore a pointed golden dragon on his leather chest plate, and donned a red cape. His eyes were black, soulless, his hair was tinged grey. He held the face of one who was used to getting what he wanted. Smug, and arrogant.

Sicarius shifted, curiosity overtaking him.

"It is just like I said." The greyhaired man said. "Your city burns, your people lay slaughtered, and you are defeated."

"As long as the Aesir blood flows this kingdom will live on." Skjoldur said, and even in the face of death, the king's voice remained strong and commanding. "You can take my life, Tullius. But you cannot take my legacy."

The man, Tullius, stepped closer once more to the king, staring hard in to his eyes. "I will burn every shred of evidence which illustrates your pathetic history. You will be lost... The world will forget you ever existed."

Skjoldur laughed in the generals face, not faltering against his threats. "You cannot erase the legacy of the gods."

Suddenly...In a scrape of metal and the swing of a blade, Sicarius saw his once mighty parents fall to their knees. His mother's head rolled across the stone, her body crumpling beside her husband as he clutched the silver sword of the empire which protruded out of his chest. He let loose a quiet, but agonizing groan, as blood poured out of him, pooling at the feet of the general. The boy clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the screams which threatened to compromise his position. He watched horrified as Tullius took a hold of the sword and twisted it in Skjoldur's chest.

The king cried out in pain, his crown falling off his head and crashing to the ground.

The general leaned forward, pulling the king in to his blade even more.

"Watch me." He said, and kicked Skjoldur away.

The king fell, one hand reaching out to his slain wife, and the other clutching the bubbling wound.

Tears streamed silently down Sicarius' face as he watched Tullius pick up the crown and raise it above his head like a victory flag.

"Long live the empire!" He screamed.

His men cheered wildly, breaking the silence that had filled the throne room.

And the heir to the Aesir throne crawled on in to the darkness. On hands and knees he crawled, his face sticky with the shed tears, and his heart shattered.

Until finally, the boy emerged in to blistering sun light. His knees bloodied, his eyes heavy, he collapsed to the grassy ground, letting the sun warm his chilled skin.

He lay beneath the sun, his childhood innocence slain like his parents.

He was alone.

He was the last Aesir.


	2. Chapter II

CHAPTER II

I shot up, sweat dripping off me, and my hand shaking as I swung my rusted sword through the silent night. I panted, blinking rapidly as I stared in to the pitch black abyss that spread itself on the edges of my fading fire. I ran a hand over my face, taking a moment for the sadness to pass.

Nearly twenty years had passed since that night...

Yet it still remained vivid and excruciating in all of my dreams. Perhaps the gods were sending it to stop me from taking the path I was on.

I scoffed, poking at the flames with my soft toed boot. Who was I kidding. There were no gods left. They died the night my parents did. Tullius snuffed them out, like everything else I loved.

I heaved a long sigh, my eyes heavy from the previous sleepless nights. 'When you grow up...' My fathers voice still echoed in my head. I moaned, desperate to be rid of it all.

'...brave and strong...You must promise...'

"Enough." I growled, rubbing my palms in to my tired eyes.

'...you will take the throne. You must make Tullius pay for his crimes.'

"No!" I cried, causing the sleeping birds to jolt from sleep and take flight. "I cannot." I whispered, gripping the back of my head, and squeezing my eyes shut.

"I cannot."

"You! Boy!"

Sicarius limped towards the guard, his mouth like cotton, and his face sunburned and gaunt. He looked up in to the metal face of the gatesman, uttering only a single word before collapsing against him.

"Father."

When he awoke, the boy was met with soft candle light, and scratchy sheets. He blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the dimness of the room. An old woman hunched above him, scowling.

"About time, you woke up."

"Where-" Sicarius croaked. "Whe-"

"Riften. You're in Riften."

"My bag." The boy said meekly, trying to sit up.

"You mean this ratty thing?" The woman said, lifting it above his head.

He reached for it, but she only laughed and cast it aside.

He once more tried to sit up, only to have his weakened body betray him and crash back against the pillow.

"My name is Grelod. And you'll be here until you come of age and get thrown in to that wide world to rot."

"But my bag-"

"It's not yours anymore, you brat!" Grelod snapped, cackling as she took it from him.

Unable to protest, he simply fell back against the pillow, and let the tears flow once more.

Sleep evading me, I stomped out my fire and trekked along through the still sleeping forest. The sun stretched it's golden fingers above the proud mountains, preparing to spread it's rousing rays across the slumbering land. The untouched air still chilled my scarcely covered skin, and the cold of the ground leeched right through my tattered boots. Hammerfell would bear better luck.

Or so I hoped...

I'd hole up in a tavern, making gold anyway I could, and hopefully I could drink enough mead to forget the past which insisted on haunting me.

My satchel felt heavier than ever as I stumbled upon the cobblestone road that lead in to Riverwood. The town was silent, not yet graced by the morning. I jogged along the babbling stream that fed in to the river, and across the bridge to the saw mill. I waded across the raging rapids, and stopped, panting, in the clearing across from the town. I took my pack off, setting it on the ground. I closed my eyes, pulling a long breath of the cold Skyrim air in to my lungs. I felt peace. For a sliver of time nothing was wrong. A fresh breath, and a beautiful morning in a land likened to the harshest of mistresses.

But despite all of her dangers, I could not deny one thing...

Skyrim was my home. As it had been for all of my ancestors.

I would be lying if I said this day would be easy.

I kneeled before the bag, delicately parting the leather and removing the cloth bound Book Aesir.

I tossed back the covering, and felt another wave of sadness crash over me as I came face to face with the bejewelled cover. I ran my fingers over the intricate design, feeling the buzz of power in it's pages. My eyes began to well with tears, as I once more recalled that fateful night twenty years ago.

I had made a promise. In my fathers last moments I promised I would avenge our name...

Now I was shying away from my destiny. Casting it away in some log for it to rot and decay at the hands of nature. I opened the book, touching my fathers name.

"I am sorry." I whispered, a single tear rolling down my dirt caked cheeks. I placed the book gently upon some brush, along with my fathers ring. I rose from the ground, running south along the rushing water.

I did not look back.

Weeks had passed, and still, young Sicarius could not recaptured his satchel. Though he couldn't fathom why, he felt he needed to obtain it. To have it close. His father would have wanted that. He peeked in to Grelod's door in the night. The other children lay sound asleep in their beds, the winter wind howled outside.

He shuffled his feet on the wood, as he crept closer to the ajar door.

Grelod sat hunched over her table in the corner, her back to the boy.

On cold bare feet, he snuck around the termite infested planks of the orphanage. His satchel lay at the foot of the wretch's bed. His heart pounded, and he I held his breath as he reached for the bag. He placed his foot, and the rotting wood gave way beneath the boys weight. He gasped, and Grelod whirled around.

"You! What do you think you're doing."

Sicarius gripped the satchel to his chest, back peddling away from the hag. She took him by the wrist, pulling him away from the door. The children had awakened, and were whispering fearfully from their beds.

Sicarius did the only thing he knew how. The same thing his ancestors had built their mighty bloodline upon.

He fought.

Throwing a wild haymaker, he landed his punch square in Grelod's saggy jaw. With a cry of pain, she crumpled to the ground. The boy clutched the bag as if it were a thread hanging him from the heavens. As if to let it go would mean certain death.

And he ran. He ran from the orphanage, through the rabble of the Riften market, and out the city gates.

When he could run no more, and the sound of the chasing guards had faded to the woodland chatter, he sank to the ground.

Touching the amulet of akatosh, he began to cry.

Sicarius sat sobbing in the forest of Skyrim...His family dead, and his kingdom stolen.

"When I get bigger." He whispered. "Stronger." He closed his small fist around the ring, trying to infuse himself with it's power.

"I will take back the throne. Tullius will pay."

I trekked along the road, climbing the incline that led to the border in to Hammerfell. Soon...Soon I'd be rid of the burden of my name. No one would know me. I would be free of the curse Father placed upon my young head.

The stone archway loomed in the distance. The portal to my escape.

The gates of my salvation.

I quickened my pace, each step feeling lighter, and more invigorated with excitement. So close...

I blasted in to full pelt, desperate for the border. Everything counted on reaching the border.

I cleared the crest, ready to leap across the threshold, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by the red-clad imperials, dragging the blue stormcloaks behind them.

I panted, my heart sinking at the sight.

"Well well well." One of the horse riding soldiers said. He removed his helmet,squinting at me against the rising sun. "Looks like we got ourselves a runaway."

Tullius stared down at me, and my blood began to boil. My mind pounded out flashbacks of that night, the image of my bleeding father blazing behind my eyes.

"You picked a bad time to border hop, Nord." He said. He whistled to his men, who rushed forward and dragged me down to the stony ground. A foot pressed against the back of my head, I growled against the cobblestone, resisting against the Imperials.

I screamed out, kicking and fighting my away from them. I was so close...

"Bash him!"

I saw a steel shield come crashing towards my face, and then I only saw black.


	3. Chapter III

CHAPTER III

I rolled my head, groaning as it pounded and throbbed. I was in the back of a carriage, being jostled about as it clattered down the cobblestone hills leading back to Skyrim.

"Hey. You. You're finally awake." The Stormcloak opposite me said.

I blinked slowly, my hands bound by the wrist at my front. I shifted in my seat, trying to take in what was happening.

"You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right in to that Imperial ambush. Same as us. And that thief over there." He jerked his chin to the left, where a ragged looking Nord was hunched over.

"Damn you Stormcloak's. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He shot a look of disgust at the Stormcloak, scuffing his cloth boot against the rough wood of the carriage. "You and me-" He said nodding my way. "We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloak's the Empire wants."

I said nothing. I only sighed, staring back at the familiar Skyrim heavens. Which god was tormenting me today?

"We're all brothers in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" The driver spat, snapping the reins.

"Whats wrong with him?" The horse thief said, pointing to the man across from him.

I stole a glance at him, noting his expensive attire first. Deep blacks and purples, giveaway's of power and fortune. A black strip was tied across his mouth, which he could only mumble against.

"Watch your tongue!" The Stormcloak commanded. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak. The true high king."

I felt my anger rise at such a claim. But I still said nothing.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" He furrowed his brow, and then his eyes went wide with realization. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...Oh gods." He sobbed, his head in his hands. "Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

"No. This cant be happening. This isn't happening." The thief continued to sob, convulsing wildly.

"Hey. What Village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" He snapped, wiping furiously at his dirty cheeks.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead...I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

"What about you?" The Stormcloak said, turning his stern gaze upon me. "Where are you from?"

I stared back, showing only rage, and hatred. "It does not matter where I am from. For when this carriage stops, we will all reside in the ground."

"Maybe you will. Sovngarde is waiting for me."

"There is no Sovngarde. You lived for naught, and you will die for naught."

His forehead creased, but he argued no further.

"This is Helgen." He pondered as we passed beneath the stone gates. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries mixed in." He chuckled, wringing his hands beneath his bounds. "It's funny. When I was a boy...Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

We were paraded through the small town, it's inhabitants gawking as we rolled closer and closer to our death.

The carriage halted, the horses whinnying, grateful for the moments rest.

"Why are we stopping?" the Thief whimpered.

"Why do you think?" The Stormcloak scoffed. "End of the line."

"Move it!" An Imperial barked, and we filed out of the carriage.

A fearsome looking imperial soldier donning the glinting silver armor of the Legate stood before us. Beside her, a lightly armored young man holding a large piece of parchment and a feathery quill.

She nodded to him, and he squinted at the text written. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric stepped forth, taking his place among the other prisoners crowding beside the executioner.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The Stormcloak said.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The blue-clad Stormcloak stepped forward, chin high, looking proud to die.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! You can't do this!" The horse thief cried, tripping forward.

"Halt!" The legate commanded.

He scrambled past her, dashing down the cobblestone. "You're not gonna kill me!"

"Archers!"

I heard the stretch of a bowstring, and an arrow flew through the air and caught Lokir in the back. He fell groaning to the ground, dead instantly.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The legate challenged.

"You there!" The young imperial waved his quill at me. "Step forward."

I took a few strides, standing tall before him.

"Who are you?"

I opened my mouth, planning on saying no one...

But something stopped me.

Here I was, running from my past, desecrating my identity. And for what?

A promise I had been forced to make to my desperate father. A king, who watched thousands of years of history crumble at his feet, and sent his son to his doom. All for the greater good of a stupid name.

My name. A name which was laden with the sins and sorrows of generations of foolhardy men sitting atop a golden throne of god-given hubris.

And yet...It was a name which scorched the pages of Skyrim's mighty history. The Aesir's were gods. Each of them beings descended from excellence, born of greatness. We were the foundation which the great north was built upon. The mighty sword and shield which with it's last crushing blow defended it's homeland.

Even through all our foolishness, and all our inequities our blood bestowed...

I wished to say my name. In the face of death, I wished for the world to know that the Aesir blood coursed proud till the end. The closest I could come to honor.

I stared up at Tullius, who sat upon his horse not far behind the Legate and her scribe. And with the voice of my ancestors...I proudly proclaimed that which I had been desperate to keep hidden.

"I am Sicarius, son of Skjoldur, of House Aesir. Risen under the first sun, descendant of the gods, first born of the new Nirn."

Tullius' eyes went wide.

The young Imperial's jaw dropped, and he frantically stared around at his equally shocked companions. A wave of gasps and whispers erupted from the crowd. Ulfric Stormcloak chuckled from his place in the crowd.

"Wh-What should we do?" He stammered, swallowing hard. "He's not on the list."

"You fool! Forget the list!" Tullius barked. "He goes to the block!"

"By your orders." The imperial actually looked at me with sympathy. "I'm sorry." he said. "At least you'll die here. In your homeland."

"Do not give him your apologies." Tullius sneered. "He will die just like all the rest of his filthy line."

"I am not my ancestors." I said, glaring at the General.

"But you bear their wounds. And their sins." He smiled, pointing to the block. "And for that...My pikes will bear your head."

In four strides I stood before the executioner, who was polishing Stormcloak blood off his blade. Clearing the space for my own.

"The Aesir next." General Tullius said.

The massive headsman laughed darkly, tapping his axe against the block. "I've never killed royalty."

"I suggest you savor it." I said, as I was forced to my knees. Tullius pressed his foot to my back, easing me on to the cold stone chopping block. "For no more royals will occupy this age."

The headsman raised his blade, ready to make the killing blow. I closed my eyes, preparing.

Then a screech echoed in the sky, making him stay his hand and scan the heavens in confusion.

"What was that?" he mumbled.

"It's nothing." Tullius assured. "Carry on."

He shrugged, once more raising his axe. The screech sounded again.

"What in oblivion is that?!" Tullius shrieked, his foot releasing me.

"Sentries! What do you see?"

"It's in the clouds!" The man atop the tower said.

I shot my gaze to the skies, and watched as a gigantic black beast landed atop the tower. It raised its terrifying head, roaring in to the calm sky. The blue swirled to black, and it beat its wings against the conjured storm. Balls of fire began to rain down from the malevolent clouds, the earth shaking beneath the might of the beast.

"Dragon!" a woman screamed.

The dragon leaped in to it's destruction, breaking the tower and allowing the rubble tumble down. One crushed the headsman, leaving me to scramble to my feet and run. Chaos consumed the streets, fire blazing down the cobblestone and swallowing up everything in sight. Hands bound, I ran awkwardly away from the madness, only to find more at every turn.

Archers notched arrow after arrow, trying to get the monster down. Nothing seemed to phase it. It only continued to spray it's evil forth, torching all who opposed.

When it did land, it let loose a jet of hell fire, and a swing of its barbed tail.

"We are leaving!" Tullius cried over top the battle, swinging his sword in the direction of the gates. I stopped before him, panting. He stood between me and the crumbled wall. My escape.

He narrowed his gaze, and gave a long cry before heaving his sword at me.

I raised my hands, falling backward and catching his blade against my bounds. He sliced through them easily, leaving the next target my face. With all my might I kicked him in the chest, sending him soaring in to the burning remains of Helgen.

I scooped up his sword, and made the mad dash to the forests.

Helgen in flames behind me, the ancient beast flying north, I collapsed against a rock face, willing myself a moments rest.

My breathing ragged, my heart doing double time, I gripped the imperial steel.

When my heart stilled, I rose to my feet. Silence. The forest remained untouched, serene, even after the evil that had passed by. I took a few steps away from the wall of rock, and swung my gaze around.

Standing proudly before me, the bodies of worshipers strewn at his feet, was Talos.

He gazed bravely in to the distance, his symbol humming with the ancient magic I had long abandoned.

I dropped to my knees before him, staring painfully in to the harsh Skyrim sun.

"Thank you." I whispered.

And for the first time since I left solitude...I prayed. To whatever odd gods would still listen.

When I felt my dues had been paid, I snatched up the battered steel shield of one of the priests in my spare hand. He wouldn't be needing it

I stalked through the forest, sword raised and ready for some stupid imperial to challenge me. Instead of Imperials, however, I found a group of bandits. One of them wore newly smithed iron armor. Four of them clustered around the fire, oblivious to me. I shifted nervously from my spot in the bushes, preparing to strike.

Suddenly, a crack of lightning shot forth and killed one of the bandits. I swore beneath my breath, charging forward to finish them off. Bashing one with my shield, and stabbing the other in the neck.

"No! Not like this!" Someone cried.

I spun on my heel, watching as a bandit raised his axe over a cowering Nord.

I brought my shield arm back, holding the leather handle only by my fingertips. With a grunt, I sent it flying forward, hitting the bandit between the shoulder blades with an earsplitting clang. He crashed to the ground, quivering as he tried to get up. I came in with a flying foot, knocking him out.

"T-Thank you, stranger." The man groaned, standing stiffly and brushing the dirt off his blue tunic.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

"I'm a bard by trade." He said, giving a big grin. "I'm travelling across the land in search of song. And what better time to write a song, when brother fights brother."

"Song's of war are sung in times of sadness."

"Unless they are songs of glorious victory."

I laughed darkly. "There will be no victory in this war."

"We will see." the brad chirped.

"Best of luck on your travels, bard." I said, kneeling over the fallen bandit and beginning to strip him of his dented and scratched iron armor.

"What on earth are you doing?" The bard marveled.

"Surviving. As best I can." I answered simply, clipping the breastplate in to place.

It wrapped tightly around my chest, constraining me, and limiting my sword arms movement. It would have to do for now. "Where is the nearest blacksmith?"

"Riverwood." He said, still staring at me oddly. "If you're desperate. Alvor's a good man. But he's a mediocre smith. If you want quality, you can make the trip up to Whiterun. Warmaiden's is very good. Though Eorland Greymane runs Skyforge. If you're oblivion bent on Nord craftsmanship."

"Thank you." I said, slipping on the iron gauntlets and continuing on.

It seemed I had barely moved an inch before another distraction stalled my travels.

"You there! Nord!" Someone croaked.

I scanned the side of the road, where an imperial lay in the bushes.

Cautiously, I approached the struggling man. He was halfheartedly gripping a bow in one hand, the other pressed to his stomach.

"Wolves. They...they ambushed me." He winced. "At least...At least I finished them off."

I looked around the still forest, then back at the wounded imperial. How could I be expected to help him? After all they had done to me...To my family.

"I'm sorry." I said, standing over him and turning to leave.

"Please!" He cried. "I was kind to you!"

I stopped, taking another glance at him.

"You were the scribe." I marveled.

He nodded, gasping as his air became shorter with ever passing moment.

"Still...You would have killed me."

"This war be damned! I'm just a man! Have a heart."

"Had one." I said coldly. "Your revered General Tullius tore it to pieces. Many years ago."

The imperial gave a long cry, thrashing about painfully in the dirt. "You bastard! Tullius will kill you! The entire Imperial army knows who you are. They will find you!"

"For their sake, you better hope they do not find me."

"Rot, Aesir scum!" He spat.

"At least you'll die here." I said, smiling cruelly. "In your homeland."

He gave another long scream, and they did not cease until I was long gone out of earshot.

When the forest cleared to meet the river, I got a view of what was ahead. Riverwood lay nestled between the mountain and water, bustling with it's late afternoon activity. The Barrow loomed over it, ever watchful. And Whiterun stood further still...A solemn, and sturdy protector.

As I surveyed my path, I felt a pang in my chest. So severe, I stumbled backwards. I clutched my iron-clad breast, my breath catching in my closing throat.

And then I recalled.

The lone log across the river...It practically hummed with energy. My blood was pulsing wildly beneath my skin, pulling me towards that which I had cast away.

'As long as Aesir Blood flows...this kingdom will live on.' My father's voice sounded in my head, and my godly-blood spiked in my veins.

Like I was being pulled along by a golden thread by some unseen entity, I followed the path to the rotten log. It was ironic...That such artifacts had been cast in a place so uninspiring. A dead, and decaying piece of wood.

Yet it was also fitting. A place of desecration was the most appropriate house for artifacts belonging to a shattered name. A broken crown, and defiled line.

I crouched before the opening of the log, the golden cover of the Book Aesir glinting in the sunlight that leaked through the crumbling wood canopy. I ran my fingers over the cover, sweeping away the dirt that had gathered there.

"I'm sorry." I said, just as I had when I left it. I picked up the abandoned satchel, carefully slipping the book inside.

The amulet of Akatosh twinkled in the sunshine. I slipped it over my head, bringing the symbol to my lips before casting my gaze once more to the sky.

"Tullius will pay." I whispered. "I promise you."

"Hail, friend." The blacksmith said from the grindstone, as I cleared the steps of his forge.

"Good day." I replied, allowing my bag to slide to the floor. "You must be Alvor."

"Aye." He said.

I unlatched my armor, moaning gratefully and rolling my tight shoulders.

"That needs to be fitted." Alvor noted.

I chuckled, placing it on the work bench. "Yes. That's why I'm here."

"Shall I take a look?"

I pondered the armor for a moment. "Well that all depends."

"On?"

"Are you any good?" I chuckled.

His beard twitched as his lips drew in to a grin. "For a price. I'm the best."

"That is quite the claim."

"If you have the coin, I could craft you armor that could take a giants club."

I patted my satchel, but the clink of coins did not sound. "Could I make you a deal?"

His brows came together, appraising me. "What kind of deal?"

"Fix my armor now, and when it is fixed I will go and get you your coin."

"Hmm." He scratched at his blackened chin. "I don't know..."

"Nord's honor." I said, offering my hand to solidify the proposition.

He still held an uneasy gaze, but grasped my hand firmly. "You best not double cross me, stranger."

"Not in my wildest dreams."

"Leave your gear on the bench. I'll be done with it soon. Might think about heading up to the inn. Delphine usually has some things to do for someone looking for coin."

"Thank you. I think I will."

I left him to his steel, crossing the tiny village to get to the Sleeping Giant Inn.

As soon as I crossed the threshold to the inn, I was instantly enveloped in merriment and warmth. The hearth blazed in the center of the room, a spit spinning meat and sending it's succulent scent to every corner of the bustling building. Patrons of the bar dotted the long tables, clinking cups and laughing as they filled their bellies with the amber-colored drink.

A bard struck out a joyful tune, adding to the buzz of the scene.

I made my way through the happy crowd, to the scowling barman at the opposite end.

"Yeah?" He growled, looking me up and down in disgust.

"I'm looking for work." I shouted over the rabble.

"Talk to Delphine." He said, jerking his chin to the barmaid who was serving up a tray of drinks to cluster of rowdy elves.

I nodded my thanks, but he only scoffed.

"Excuse me." I called over the noise, approaching the wildflower blue clad woman.

"Be with you in a minute." She shot over her shoulder, laughing at the elves.

Growing impatient, I reached for her shoulder. Before I could make contact she whipped on me, holding a dagger out. Throwing my hands up in surrender, I raised an eyebrow.

"I said wait." She hissed,

"I'm just looking for work."

"And why should I help you, outsider?"

I narrowed my gaze at her. "You won't receive many patrons if you treat them like this."

She laughed, returning her dagger to its sheath. "I have no need for patrons like you. Get out of my bar."

"Give me work." I said slowly.

She glared at me, her fists clenching at her sides. "Talk to Lucan down at the trader. He's got a problem you may be able to help with."

"Thank you." I said between clenched teeth, leaving the bar to it's business.

"I said no!" The shopkeeper yelled as I entered, his fist pounding against the wood of his counter as he erupted. "No adventures, no theatrics...No bandit hunting!"

The woman he was yelling at scowled. "Hmm." She turned away, catching me in the doorway and turning red with embarrassment. "Oh. Hello there." She batted her lashes, taking a seat next to the fire.

"I hear you have a little bit of a problem." I said, flitting my gaze between the woman and Lucan.

"Uh...Yes. Some thieves broke in to my shop. Made off with an artifact of mine. A dragon claw, made of solid gold."

"Where did they go?"

"Up to the barrow."

"I could get it back for you." I said.

"Really? I got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back."

"Consider it done."

"This is your plan, Lucan? Send some stranger after the claw?"

"I told you to stay out of this, Camilla!"

The woman, Camilla, glared at me. "Do you even know where the barrow is?"

"Yes. I do."

"If you don't bring back that claw, I will personally have you eliminated."

"You have my word, m'lady." I bowed slightly, emanating the charm gifted to me by blood.

She blushed again, her hand flitting around her neck. "Well then...If my brother trusts you, I suppose I do too. Be careful."

"Of course." I said, smiling.

"Ah! Just in time!" Alvor said excitedly, as I leaned against the workbench.

I picked up the dented and ill fitting armor I had left on the bench. "This is fine craftsmanship?" I asked, raising my brows at him.

He scoffed, waving off the shoddy piece. "No no. I told you...My armor can take a giant's club. That stuff crumbled under my hammer." He reached behind his tanning rack, looking overly too pleased with himself. When he popped back before me, he extended a newly shaped steel breastplate towards me.

I nodded in approval, running my hands over the smooth metal. "This is good."

"I told you. I know what I'm doing."

I strapped it on, glad to be able to breath in it. "Good fit too."

"I had to guess." He said, handing me the rest of the pieces.

Gauntlets, boots, shield.

"They're so light." I marveled.

"I temper them well."

"I can tell. With care." I smiled, as he handed me the blade next. I swung it about, my fingers curling naturally around the hilt. "Now...I'm off to get your coin."

"Wait." The blacksmith called as I turned to leave. "What is your name, kinsman?"

I glanced back at him, my gaze falling to the floor.

"Sicarius." I said quietly. I supposed it did not matter now...Soon all of Skyrim would know my name. "Sicarius Aesir."

Alvor's eyes went wide, and when he spoke his voice was a hushed. "Do you know what kind of trouble you can get in to for saying that name?"

"I do." I said, matching his tone. "But I do not wish you to fear it. The only person I want to feel fear when they hear that name is Tullius."

Alvor's blinked at me a few times, not saying anything more.

"Who do you support? Stormcloaks or Imperials?" I asked.

He shrugged, still gaping at me. "I am not a man of conflict."

I cracked a smile. "Not a man of conflict...Yet you base your livelihood upon it. You craft the tools for which it is waged. You are the builder of conflict. Each blade you craft will spill the blood of someone's enemy."

"Enough." He snapped, his face twisting in to anger. "I do not wish to see brothers spill one another's blood. I wish for peace. And if my blades will bring that...I may rest easy."

"Peace." I repeated. "Alvor the blacksmith wishes for peace."

"Aye." He said.

I raised my new blade, the polished steel reflecting the embers of the forge. "I can promise you...This blade will bring you peace. I will use it to gift you with the slumber you desire."

"For now I'd prefer my pay."

I chuckled, hopping on to the dirt beneath the forge steps. "As you wish."

I ducked beneath the rocks at the base of the mountain, Bleak Falls Barrow looming overhead. Two bandits were lurking around the crumbling tower that stood as the lone guardian to the treacherous inclining path. The first bandit was leaning against a tree, looking half asleep. One arrow would have taken care of him. The other was perched atop the tower, scanning the white landscape spread beneath him.

I rolled a smooth stone in my hand, tossing it gently and catching it in my other hand.

I drew in a breath of cold air, and popped up from my cover to hurl the rock in the direction of the lazy bandit.

Quickly ducking back down behind the rocks, I strained my ear to listen to him fall.

A grunt, and the thud of a body against the ground had me releasing my held breath.

"Who's there?" The bandit yelled. I heard the creak of a bow being drawn. He ran loudly down the stone steps, stumbling out in to the fresh snow. "Show yourself!" He bellowed.

I drew my sword, raised my shield, and barreled towards him. He gasped, but had time to do nothing else. I ran him through with my blade, leaving him to rot with his companion. I snatched up his wooden bow, strapping it across my back along with his handful of arrows. I jogged up the mountain, my breath rising in iced little clouds.

I crept along the stairs leading to the barrow. There was no sign of any other bandits, but the stillness of the area only heightened. I cleared the top of the steps, only to be met with an assault of battle cries and arrows. Ducking beneath my shield, I braced against the tall pillars which dotted outside the Barrow. My lungs feeling ready to burst, I glanced around my cover, only to be nearly killed by another hurtling arrow. I notched an arrow of my own, letting it loose at the sound of a laughing bandit. His glee was cut short as the tip of the arrow buried itself in his jugular. I drew back another, felling the next bandit. And the next...

Until finally they all lay dead, and I was free to enter Bleak Falls Barrow.


	4. Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV

Trekking through the barrow, further in to the bowels, I caught the sickly sweet smell of a spiders venom. Treading even more cautiously, webs began to coat the walls the further I ventured.

"Is...is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?" A voice cried out fearfully. "Someone! Please help me!"

I peeked around the corner, gasping at what I saw.

A cavernous room, covered completely in white webs, and decorated with the bones of fallen adventurers. In the midst of it all, a bandit was strung up in the doorway, wriggling against his silky binds.

"Oh gods...Here it comes again!" The bandit squealed.

Then from the ceiling, a massive frostbite spider descended.

It crashed to the webbed floor, hissing and spitting venom my way. I caught the mess on my shield, allowing it to slide off the slick steel before dashing forth and hacking away at the beast. It died with a horrible shriek, leaving me to pad disgusted over it's corpse.

"Great you've killed it. Now get me down from here!" Through his silky mask, I could see the bandit to be a dark elf, his eyes like glinting pools of blood in the dark. "Where's the golden claw?" I demanded.

"Yes yes! I have it. Cut me down. You wont believe the power the Nord have hidden here."

Skeptical, I slashed at the stringy prison and let him fall to the ground.

He laughed, before scrambling to his feet and running off. "You fool!" He shot back, his cry echoing around the stone halls. "Why should I share the treasure with you?"

I growled, chasing him down the decrepit corridors. Chuckling all the way, I was no match for the lightly armored elf, and found myself clunking three steps behind his every two.

I stumbled in to the next chamber, instantly feeling a sense of danger. The elf felt it too, for he stopped dead in his tracks.

Then the deathly low groan of the Draugr sounded, and the dead crawled out of their graves. The elf squealed, desperate to run away. His fleeing only led him to a spike trap, which cut him down with the sickening sound of steel embedding itself in to flesh.

I chopped at the Draugr who ventured from their tombs, allowing them to die once more by my blade.

When they lay slain, and the crypt was quiet once more, I took to searching the bandit for the claw.

Sure enough, his satchel contained the golden claw, along with a journal detailing the elf's plan to abandon his companions and claim the treasure for himself, and detailing the secret of Bleak Falls Barrow.

I weighed the claw in my hand, staring down the twisting stairs that lay ahead.

I should have gone back to Lucan. Given him the claw, claimed my reward, and been on my way.

But the thought of hidden secrets and untold riches...

An elf was not fit for such a bounty. The Nord's were my ancestors. A Nord should claim their prize.

I slipped the claw in to my own satchel, avoiding the spike trap and whistling as I went further through the barrow.

After solving the mystery of the Nordic puzzle door, I stepped foot in to a massive cavern.

I stared slack jawed at it all. Water fell in jets from the ceiling, filling a small stream which ran through the middle. The place hummed with power, torches still lit after thousands of years. I climbed the steps, coming face to face with the ancient word walls carved from a stone one could only describe as the midnight sky.

Black as an abyss, emblazoned with the talon scratch dragon tongue. Thousands of years of history was etched on that wall. I inspected it with care, memorizing every mar on it's ebony face.

One scrawl of characters burned blue against the wall. I ran my gauntlet over it, reaching deep in to my memory to recall the teachings of my father. The markings tugged on my mind, begging to be deciphered.

"Fus." I said aloud. "Force."

The word resonated within me, pounding like a war drum just beneath my breastbone. So focused on the odd power rumbling inside of me, I jumped at the sound of stone cracking and a Draugr growling.

I turned on the rising dead, weapon raised, shield ready to defend any blow delivered it's way.

The draugr clumsily brought down his war hammer, crushing me beneath it's weight. With all my strength, I pushed back, making him stumble.

I gave a yell, stabbing him through the middle. His jaw hung precariously off the bone, a blood-curdling wail escaping from it. His sinewy hands grasped the blade of my sword, his fingers bleeding as he pulled himself along the sword.

I ripped it out of him, his hands crumbling as his fingers came flying off.

The draugr fell to his knees, though he still swung wildly at my legs.

"May you find peace in Sovngarde." I said, thrusting my sword through his forehead.

He gurgled a moment, as his undead-life left him. When the eerie blue light faded from the bare sockets in his head, I eased my blade out of him with a sickening slurp. I pushed back the lid of the chest that sat beside the cracked tomb.

Expecting glittering gold and jewels, I sighed angrily.

"Nothing." I mumbled. I brushed the bottom of the chest, my gauntlet catching on something. Curling my fingers beneath it's edge, I was able to lift a slab of rock from the dust infested chest. Coughing as the years of stagnancy assaulted my lungs, I swept away the grime, revealing more etchings of the dragon tongue. The stone was cut and polished to perfection beneath the dirt and age, obviously worth some amount of coin...

But it wasn't gold.

I shoved it in my satchel anyway, hoping Lucan would buy it off me.

"No. It's far too expensive." Lucan said, stroking his golden claw like it was a darling pet.

I groaned, shoving it back in to my satchel. "Fine."

I stalked back in to the sunshine, glancing up and down the road. 200 septims in my pocket, I crossed the road to Alvor's forge.

"Blacksmith!" I called, squinting against the sun to peek in to his workplace. There was no sign of him. "Alvor!"

He came running down the road, panting wildly.

What is it I asked, drawing my weapons.

"A dragon!" He gasped, faltering against the stairs of the forge. "It attacked Helgen."

I raised an eyebrow, not daring to look at him as he caught his breath.

Gods be damned...

"And..." I felt his gaze locked on me. "One of the prisoners escaped. They say he's an Aesir."

I swallowed hard. "I have your gold." I said simply, extending the bag of coins. "I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do I." He said, standing to his full height to look me in the eye. "I can clear your debt...If you do something for me."

"And what is it that I can do?"

"The Jarl needs to know of this dragon attack. Riverwood is defenseless."

I nodded. "Of course. I will tell the Jarl." I turned to leave, but Alvor caught my arm.

"One other thing."

I looked over my shoulder at him.

"If you are the son of the king...The true king."

I caught a sadness in his eyes as they left me.

"Tullius has taken so much from Skyrim. He has destroyed our home, demolished the spirit in her people." He stared in to the flames of his forge, a single fiery tear rolling down his charcoal stained cheek. When his gaze settled back on me, all the sadness and despair had left him. Only anger remained.

"Make Tullius suffer. Bring life back to our land."

I reached out a hand, gripping his strong shoulder. "I promise." I whispered.

He nodded gratefully, mirroring my actions.

"You look like the Queen." He whispered. "I only hope you inherited her kindness as well."

I swallowed back the threat of tears, stepped off Alvor's steps, and began my journey to Whiterun.

"Halt!" The guard said, as I approached the gate. "The city is closed due to the recent dragon attacks."

News traveled fast in Skyrim...

"Riverwood calls for aid." I said, sheathing my weapon. "I come on behalf of Alvor, the blacksmith."

"Alvor?" The guard questioned. "He's a good man. Alright...You can enter."

He pulled the gate open, nodding me forward.

I let my shield fall to my side, and I strolled through the quaint city. Some squealing children ran by, playing some game. Merchants shouted out their wares from the market square, heavily armored mercenary's swapped stories of their adventures. I followed the cobblestone path all the way up the stairs and to the magnificent Dragonsreach. The home of the Jarl, since the defeat of the mighty Numinex.

I pushed open the heavy doors, being enveloped in warmth and the smell of a feast being prepared.

Though through the happy surroundings, I sensed tension. A worry in the atmosphere.

I was cautious in my approach to the Jarl's throne, where three angry voices were engaged in argument.

"My lord...We must give it time. The movement of troops will not bode well. Ulfric will view it as a provocation." A blue robed imperial spoke to the Jarl, standing meekly, and wringing his hands nervously.

"I will not stand idly by as a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" The Jarl boomed.

I cleared my throat, only to be met by the ring of a blade.

"What is the meaning of this?" A dark elf demanded.

"I have news of the dragon attack at Helgen."

Her red eyes widened. "Well. That explains why the guards let you in." She sheathed her sword, and stepped aside.

"Thank you, Irelieth." He nodded to the dark elf.

I stood before Jarl Balgruuf, bowing slightly.

"And who you might you be?" He asked, looking me up and down.

"Just a traveler." I lied.

He raised a brow. "Just a traveler?"

"Alvor has asked me to warn you of the dragon. He worries for Riverwood. They are defenseless."

"How do you know of the dragon?"

"I was at Helgen."

"And you saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yes. I had a great view while the imperials were trying to cut my head off."

"The imperials." He scoffed. Then he stared at me with an increased intensity. "Why were they trying to cut your head off?"

I shrugged. "They caught me at the border. I was only trying to get in to Hammerfell."

"Uh huh." He sounded unconvinced. "Well. You were brave enough to get out of Helgen. You're a cut above the average messenger. In fact..." He rose up out of his throne, coming down his steps to meet me. "There's something you may be able to help me with."

"My lord I do not know-"

"You will be paid handsomely." He added, a twinkle in his eye.

I sighed, but nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good." He beamed, and led me to a room off of the main hall. An arcane enchanter hummed in the corner, soul gems strewn across the map covered table.

"Farengar!" The Jarl called.

A man stumbled out of a tiny room, juggling potions and scrolls. He threw them on to the already cluttered table, looking to the Jarl with a grin and no breath.

"Yes, my lord? How may I be of assistance?"

"I think I found some one to help with your...Dragon problem."

I glanced at the Jarl, a brow raised.

"Ah yes! Wonderful!" Farengar said.

"I'll leave you to it." The Jarl said, returning to his throne.

"So...You think you're worthy of undertaking my most important mission."

"The Jarl seems to think so." I said, holding a soul gem to the light.

"Great. I have an...Item which needs fetching. A simple task."

"Just tell me where I need to go."

"Ah. You're eager to begin your journey." The wizard chuckled.

"There is a dragon artifact, hidden deep within Bleak Falls Barrow. A stone tablet. I think it will help me figure out why the dragons are returning."

"Bleak Falls you say?" I reached in to my satchel, fingers curling around the smooth stone tablet.

"Yes. Near Riverwood."

I smiled, pulling the artifact out and sliding it across the table.

"The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You are a cut above the goons the Jarl usually sends my way."

"Is there something I can get for this?" I asked.

"That...Is where our business ends. You'll have to speak with the Jarl."

I sighed, but turned to leave the flighty wizard.

"Farengar!"

Both our heads snapped up, as Irileth came running.

"Farengar. A dragon is attacking the west tower."

"A dragon!" He beamed, almost vibrating with enthusiasm. "How exciting! What was it doing? What did it look like."

The housecarl glared at the wizard. "I'd take this a little more seriously if I were you, mage." She jerked her chin my way. "You should come too."

I quelled my protest, and followed the elf to the throne, where Balgruuf was once again engaged in an argument.

"Send all of the men we have! Take that thing down."

"My lord." Irileth said as we drew near.

He whipped around, zeroing in on me. "You. Go to the western watchtower. Kill that beast."

"My lord...What of my reward?"

He chuckled. "I have not forgotten your services." He unsheathed a gleaming gold sword, presenting it to me with a grin.

I raised my eyebrow at him. "Elven made?"

The Jarl nodded. "Imbued with flame."

I held the feather light blade in my hand, inspecting it beneath the candle light. Elven...I still was unsure.

"I must ask for your services once more." He said, a darkness in his voice. "You survived Helgen. You have more experience with these monsters than anyone else."

I sighed, slipping the humming sword in to it's sheath and belting it around my waist. "Just tell me where you need me to be."

The Jarl smiled again, and with a new found enthusiasm, ordered me to the Western Watchtower.


	5. Chapter V

CHAPTER V

The small and terrified group of guards ducked behind a rock, peering out at the smoldering watchtower. The yellow tunics of their fallen kinsmen lay in tattered and charred piles, dotting the field of battle.

"No sign of him now...But it sure looks like hes been here." Irileth squinted in to the ruins, analyzing the destroyed scene. "I know it looks bad." She said, addressing her men. "But you must steel yourself. Spread out! Look for any survivors."

The shaky guards poked around the collection of desecrated stone, calling out meekly for a victor in the loss.

I sprinted up the crumbling tower steps, where the entire tower had collapsed in on itself.

"Take cover!" A voice commanded.

I jumped as a frazzled guard scrambled to his feet, dashing out of the rubble.

"That thing is still out there!"

I followed him out, narrowing my gaze against the dazzling sun. I lifted my arm, shielding my eyes to examine the clear blue sky.

There was a low rumbling in the distance, which shook the ground beneath my steel boots.

"God's...Here it comes again."

Against the picturesque mountains, a massive, black beast rose, and in three powerful flaps of it's mighty wings was right above us.

"Make every arrow count!" Irileth commanded, drawing back an arrow of her own.

I perched atop the fallen tower top, begging the dragon to come closer. It gave another roar, and scorched the ground with flame as it made it's sweep just above us.

I stumbled as it coasted by me, too close for comfort. I banged my sword against my shield, readying myself for it's next pass.

"Come on then, you rancid bastard." I whispered. It reared against the smoky wind, hovering before me.

I took a few paces backward, before falling in to a sprint up the incline of the tower piece. I leaped up with a shout, catching my sword in it's heated throat.

The dragon wailed, thrashing about as I clambered up it's scaly neck. I chopped at it's gnashing jaws, creating sparks as my blade grazed the razor teeth behind bloody jowls.

It flew around in panic for a moment or two, before nose diving in to the dirt. I hopped off it's back, slashing some more and bashing it's bloodied snout with my shield. With one final stab, the dragon let out it's final sulfur scented breath.

As it reared back it's ugly head, it let loose a very human sound.

"Dovahkiin no!" It wailed, before faltering.

I wiped the sweat and blood from my brow, breathing hard.

Just when I thought the battle was over, the carcass of the dragon began to crackle. It's scales burst in to flame, turning to ash as pale bones became visible through the flame.

I took a step back, a ball of light forming from the charred dragon. Purple and gold swirled in the air, and came rushing in to the center of my chest. I gasped, as the light flowed through me, imbuing me with some kind of magic. My muscles felt stronger, my senses heightened. As the strange power entered my body I felt ready to take down the entire world.

Then it faded, just as quickly as it came, leaving only a faint drumming and the chant of odd words in my ears.

I laughed, clenching my fists and inspecting myself.

"I don't believe it." A guard said in awe, removing his helmet and gaping at me. "You're Dragonborn."

My eyes widened at the word. "Dragonborn?" I repeated more to myself. My mind whirred back to the old legends of the Dragonborn. Tiber Septim was the last. Powerful men who possessed the souls of dragons, who hunted the beasts with mighty thuum's. The languages of dragons. The gift was rare...Only the purest of souls and bravest of men could inherit such power. I hardly qualified.

"There's only one way to find out...Try shouting."

I blinked slowly, drawing in a big breath. The word etched in to the wall back at Bleak Falls stirred in the back of my mind, blazing behind my eyes. 'Fus'. I reared back as the dragon had, and when I thrust my self forward, drawn by my the word, the guard tumbled backwards, staring bewildered at me.

"Dragonborn." He whispered again. The guards grouped around me, arguing among themselves on the Dragonborn's of old.

I simply stood in the middle of the crossfire, staring at the charred ground.

"Irileth. What do you have to say about all this? You're being awfully quiet."

"I'm not putting my faith in some old wives tale."

"Bah. You don't understand. You ain't a Nord."

The elf scoffed. "I've traveled all over Tamriel. And seen all kinds of outlandish things." She rolled her eyes, examining the dragon remains. "What we have here is a dead dragon. And that's good enough for me."

The guards mumbled to themselves, shuffling back towards the city.

"You should go speak with the Jarl." The elf suggested, never looking at me. "Tell him about this Dragon."

I nodded, and jogged past the guards up the cobblestone path. As I reentered the gates of Whiterun, the sky cracked with a thundering sound. So loud, my brain rattled beneath my skull, and I found myself crashing to the cobblestone.

"Dovahkiin!"

The clouds above trembled at the sound, but morphed back to serenity within seconds.

"The Greybeards..." I murmured. An Ancient order, of men who spent their lives learning the dragon language. I read about them as a child, though I doubted they existed. I supposed now was my chance to find out.

But first...

"A drink." I murmured. Perhaps the Jarl would give me a reward to fund my relaxation.

I made the trek all the way up to Dragonsreach, presenting myself to Jarl Balgruuf.

"Ah. The hero returns." The Jarl rose from his throne. "Tell me of the battle."

"The beast is slain." I said carefully. "If you no longer require my services I'll be on my way."

"Surely there is more to the tale than that." The Jarl pressed, raising his brow.

I sighed, taking his bait. "When the dragon died...I absorbed some kind of power from it. The men think I am...Dragonborn."

Jarl Balgruuf chuckled. "And you do not?"

"I do not know."

"Surely you heard the thundering sound as you entered the gates." A vicious looking Nord boomed, drinking mead a few paces off from the throne.

"Please, Hrongar. Thundering voices, mystical beasts...It's all rather silly if you ask me." Proventus said, still wringing his hands.

"You wouldn't understand, Proventus." The warrior replied. "You ain't a Nord."

"You do not think it mere coincidence that a dragon appears in this age, as the Dragonborn arises..." Balgruuf asked, narrowing his eyes at me. "Do you?"

"I do not know what to think." I shot.

The Jarl rubbed his chin, but said nothing more. "Either way...Whiterun is in your debt. As Jarl, I grant you permission to purchase property within my hold, and honor you with the title of Thane."

I shook my head, holding up a hand to stop him. "Jarl Balgruuf please...This is all too much. I would just like to be on my way." I protested.

The Jarl smiled wickedly. "You decline my gracious offer?"

"I just...I do not deserve such an offer."

There was a twinkle in Balgruuf's eye then, and my stomach twisted.

"At least let me have you as my dinner guest." He pressed. "Really. It's the least I can do."

I sighed heavily, but nodded.

"Wonderful!" The Jarl boomed, rising from his throne. "On the overlook then, at sundown."

I gave a halfhearted smile, awkwardly backing away. "I will be there." I assured, turning on my heel and beelining for the door. I let loose a long breath, trodding down the sturdy steps back to the market square.


	6. Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI

I pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to the Bannered Mare, feeling the worry melt off me as I entered. Merriment, song, and free flowing mead.

Sights set on a table tucked away in the shadowy corner, I gave a polite grin to the older woman behind the bar as I passed. She returned the gesture, with a warm smile, and kind eyes.

"Welcome to The Bannered Mare." She said.

I sat heavily in the chair, setting my gauntlets on the rough wooden table.

'Gods above I am tired.' I thought, running a shaky hand across my eyes.

"What'll it be-"

I glanced up, catching the gaze of the barmaid. A pretty redguard woman, with dark hair and equally dark eyes. She instantly began batting her long lashes at me, and smiling coquettishly.

"Well…" She sighed a little, flipping her hair out of her face. "Hello there. I can't say I've seen you around before."

I chuckled, lowering my gaze to the floor. "I am simply passing through."

"Is that so? A strapping nord like you...Surprised you're not here to join the Companions."

I felt my cheeks warm at her words. "No. I have never been one for guilds or company."

Her brow furrowed. "What a shame. You look like you could use some."

I smiled. "Are you offering?"

"I might be." She teased. "What's your name?"

"Sicarius." I answered.

"Sicarius." She mused. "I heard that there was a prisoner who escaped Helgen. And his name was Sicarius. Sicarius Aesir?"

I paled, and she must have noticed because she gave a lighthearted laugh. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"My name is Saadia."

"Good to meet you." I replied.

"What can I get you, handsome?"

"Just...Just mead please." I said quietly, patting my coin purse.

"Nord, Honningbrew, or Blackbriar?"

"Nord."

"Coming right up." Saadia replied, sauntering away.

Absent of social stimulation, I once more became aware my fatigue. Where would I go next? Every Imperial in skyrim was after me...Not to mention every bounty hunter. Tullius was a rich, and desperate man. The reward for my capture would be great. My gut turned to rot, and my head ached as the reality of what I had created in my escape became clear to me.

I was a scared child again...Fearful and bending to wants of a dead man.

"I need help." I moaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"One nord mead." Saadia purred, setting the cool bottle before me.

I licked my lips, awaiting the amber liquid within. "Thank you." I said, lifting the bottle and gulping greedily. The sweet mead warmed my throat, leaving behind it's cooling minty aftertaste in it's wake.

"Can I get you anything to eat?" Saadia asked, wiping her hands down the front of her dress.

I gasped, lowering the drink with a smile. "No. Thank you. I have dinner plans."

She raised a single black brow. "Oh? Who's the lucky host?"

"The uh...The Jarl actually."

"Of course! You're the one who killed the dragon!"

I smiled shyly.

"Gods...You could have said something."

"It was nothing. And I had help."

"Come on." Saadia teased, smacking my shoulder.

I looked up at her, cracking a playful grin.

"That means your the mighty Dragonborn then."

"Now now...That I cannot be sure of. Not yet at least."

Saadia eyes scanned me hungrily, and I shifted uneasily beneath her gaze.

"Well now that all of Skyrim probably knows who you are and the Imperials are on a manhunt for you...Maybe being dragonborn wouldn't be so bad."

I sighed, finishing off my drink. "What do I owe you?"

"It's on the house, handsome."

"Please do not give me special treatment." I rose from my seat, looking down at her.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You sure are humble for royalty."

"I have not been royalty for a long time."

"And with that attitude you'll be hard pressed to regain the title." Saadia had taken a step closer, her bust brushing against the steel of my chest-plate.

"Please. I do not wish to raises suspicion."

"There's no suspicion. I dole drinks out to attractive men all the time."

I chuckled, and she began to crane her neck upwards. Her eyes closed, and her lips puckered. I slipped some coin in to her hand, and leaned in closer. "Thank you, Saadia." I whispered, and slipped past her. I left the Bannered Mare behind me, and stumbled out into the darkening Whiterun streets. As the day died, Whiterun seemed to come alive. The city was almost as lively as the tavern, with the sweet scent of mead in the air, and laughter sounding from every corner.

I took only a few steps down the cobblestone road, when I was stopped by a commanding female voice.

"So. You're the one who killed the dragon, eh?"

I glanced over my shoulder, taken aback by a ferocious looking Nord woman. Dressed in furs, with a quiver and deadly bow strapped at her back, her eyes burned in to me. Three navy lines of warpaint marked her otherwise smooth skin, and a tangle of red hair ran down her strong back.

"Yes." I answered looking her up and down. "I am."

"Hmph. You don't look all that tough."

"That so?"

"Besides...You weren't the only one there. I'm still doubtful you delivered the killing blow."

"I did have help. The guards were very brave." I looked her up and down once more. "Though I must say...I did not see you around."

The nord woman scowled. "I was...Busy."

"With?" I pressed with a smirk.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." She took a threatening step forward, a hand instinctively reaching for her bow.

I remained stalwart, only raising a brow at her. "You wish to display the bravery you lacked then now?"

"I should kill you where you stand!" She

I opened my arms, leaving myself completely vulnerable. "By all means. You'll be doing the Imperials a favour."

At the mention of the imperials, her brows came together in confusion. Then her eyes went wide with realization. "You're-"

"Aela!"

The warrioress' head snapped to the source of the call, relaxing as she caught sight of it. A burly looking nord with dark hair.

"Off with you." He ordered "Leave this man at peace."

Her jaw worked as her teeth clenched, and she narrowed her eyes at me. She stalked off, fuming.

"Sorry about her. She's a little...Temperamental." The man who took Aela's place smiled apologetically at me, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No apology needed. I was teasing her a bit."

"Bad idea." He laughed.

"You're companions aren't you?" I said, noting the fur lined armor. It echoed the armor donned by Ysgramor himself. The descendants of those who fought alongside the first king of Skyrim. But to call them descendants was a compliment. I had heard the tales of their true value. They no longer fought in Ysgramor's memory. They fought for their own glory. For gold, and because they were good at nothing else. No better than thugs now. The vision laid out by their predecessors lost.

"Aye." He nodded. "My name is Vilkas."

"A privilege. I am-"

"Sicarius Aesir." He said with a smile. "Yes...I know all about you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I studied your histories as a boy. Jorvaskr used to be filled with stories of your line. Until…" a sadness washed over him.

"Tullius." I finished.

Vilkas nodded. "His extermination was quick, his word law. We did not fight them. Though Talos knows I wanted to." His sadness morphed to anger. "We should have been there fighting. Protecting the king and queen…"

"What's done is done. There is no benefit in regret now." I assured him.

"Know this…" Vilkas said, his hand clasping my shoulder. "I will gladly raise my blade in your name. When the time comes, I will march alongside you against Tullius."

"And I will be honored to fight at your side." I assured him.

"Thank you, my king."

"Sicarius will do just fine." I said, chuckling.

"Of course." Vilkas grinned.

"I must be going." I said.

Fist over his heart, Vilkas gave a slight bow as I turned to leave.

As petty as it seemed, being a king would take some getting used to. My entire life I had remained in the shadows. Deliberately stayed out of the line of public sight.

And now...Everyone knew my name.

The people were behind me...If only the people of Whiterun.

Nevertheless, they were ready for change.

They were ready for another Aesir.

And I was their only choice.

"Lucky them." I muttered sarcastically, once more climbing the stairs to Dragonsreach.


	7. Chapter VII

A guard escorted me through the main hall of the Jarl's palace, and out on to the overlook. At the end, already seated at a long table laden with food, was the Jarl. He rose to meet me, a big smile on his bearded face.

"Ah, welcome!" He exclaimed, instantly thrusting a goblet in my hand.

"Uh...Thank-Thank you." I held the goblet carefully, still feeling the warmth of my last drink in my belly.

Balgruuf waved at the guard. "Leave us be, kinsmen." He ordered.

"Aye, m'lord." The guard said solemnly, his footsteps echoing down the stone and back into the palace.

"Please. Sit." The Jarl said, taking his spot at the head of the table.

I sat across from him, my mouth watering as the scent of a hot meal wafted up from the silver platters. I began piling their contents on to my own plate, until I could not force on another morsel. Fork in hand, I took the first bite. The first real food I'd had in Gods knew how long. I moaned a little, making the Jarl laugh.

"You're enjoying the meal, I take it."

Chewing vigorously, I nodded. I washed down the mouthful with the contents of the goblet. A sweet red liquid poured down my throat. I gasped, setting it down, empty. "It is all...Wonderful, m'lord."

Balgruuf tilted his head. "You don't remember me, do you?" he said simply.

I lowered my fork, glancing at him. "I-I'm sorry I do not-"

"I knew your father." The Jarl said, casting his sights into the darkening horizon. "And I'd recognize an Aesir anywhere. We met once. You were just a wee lad mind you..." His saddened gaze rested upon me again. "You look just like him. Except the eyes...Those are your mothers."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I heard rumors that a boy survived the attack. But I didn't want to believe it. The things Tullius would have done to you...The things the citizens would…" the Jarl shook his head. "They so blindly followed him."

"And that is better than blindly following an Aesir?"

The Jarl furrowed his brow. "The Aesir's cared for Skyrim and her people. Your ancestors lived, fought, and died to keep this land free. They were kings. Tullius is a brilliant general, but he is no king. He sees Skyrim as challenge. A savage beast to kill, skin, and sell for profit."

I stayed silent, the food in my stomach turning to rot.

"The people of Skyrim did not follow the Aesir's blindly." Balgruuf said. "They followed Primitus because he gave them hope. They followed Ysgramor because he gave them a new life. A new land that they could call home. Each of your ancestors became king because the people of Skyrim trusted them."

"Then why was Tullius able to rally them against us?" I asked, tears threatening to pour from my eyes. "Why was it so easy to take their loyalty?"

"Like I said...Tullius is a brilliant general. He faced them with something they had never encountered from previous rulers. Fear. He turned the kings into monsters, the gods into devils. He turned Skyrim's loyalty into hatred. It's easy to do when your king is the most powerful being alive. One wrong move...And he could turn against his children." Balgruuf ran a hand across his eyes.

I felt my confidence crumble. The enthusiasm I had gained from my Helgen escape was replaced with anger. Why was it my job to protect them? What made them worthy of such protection? If they so quickly stopped believing in the Aesir's, how was I supposed to trust them to start believing again?

"Maybe I do not wish for such fickle subjects."

Balgruuf gave me a an angered look, slamming his fist on the table. "They are not simply subjects! They are the people your family has sworn to protect. Without them you would be nothing!"

"I am nothing." I countered. "Tullius destroyed all I was. And they did nothing while Solitude burned. They sat idly as their king and queen- my mother and father- were executed."

Balgruuf let loose a long, aggravated breath. "If you abandon these people you are no better than he is."

I settled my enraged gaze on the Jarl, drawing in a long breath of the cooling evening air. "I am nothing." I repeated. "I cannot save them. They do not deserve to be saved."

"What if your father said the same about you, Sicarius?" Balgruuf said. "That night...In all the chaos what if he looked down at you and said 'I cannot save you. You do not deserve to be saved.'."

"Then I would not be faced with this predicament. And Skyrim and her people could continue to suffer beneath a dictator." I replied.

"You cannot turn your back on these people."

I knew he was right…I hated to admit it. But I knew that to get to Tullius, I first had to get to them. They had to trust in Gods once more. "I promise nothing, Jarl Balgruuf."

The Jarl tilted his head, his brows coming together.

"My father died for what he believed in. I watched him sacrifice himself for me...A small hope that his line would continue. He placed all his trust in me. You have to understand my hesitance. Should I fail…"

"Of course I understand." Balgruuf cut in. "But you have to understand my urgency. Skyrim is my home. I pray to the nine to give me the strength to restore it to it's former glory. And the nine sent you. After all these years. You appear. Skyrim is cornered by Imperials, Stormcloaks and dragons, ready to succumb to the evil descending upon her… And you come to our aid."

"You believe this was a godly occurrence?"

"You believe it coincidence, that a god-descended dragonborn appears, in this age, bearing the power of the Aesirs and a hatred for Tullius?"

"I do not know what to believe, Jarl." I chuckled.

"I cannot make your decision, Sicarius." The jarl pushed away from the table, gazing into the pink horizon. "You may not promise anything to me, but I promise you that as long as an Aesir lives in this world, Whiterun will help him to protect it."

I downed my remaining wine, and pushed away from the table. "Thank you, Jarl." I said. I nodded curtly to him before turning my back on the feast.

"You'll do the right thing." Balgruuf called after me.

Hand pressed to the door, I sighed. "How do you know?" I shot over my shoulder.

"Because you're an Aesir."

As I pushed forward, leaving the lavish pleasantries behind and trodding back out into the madness of the world I mumbled beneath my angered breath. "I never asked to be."


End file.
